


Lithos

by Kasuchi



Category: Viva La Vida - Coldplay
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Gambling, Greece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"What better a name," she said, laughing, the light from the lamps catching in her eyes, "than the goddess of the dawn? After all," and here her voice would deepen into huskier tones. "I'll be the last woman you see before the sun rises, will I not?"</em> A wager, a fire, a letter, a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lithos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WitchTiara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchTiara/gifts).



> Prompt was as follows:
>
>> Viva la Vida: There's a lot you can do with this song. Of course, what I would like best is a stunning betrayal, followed by the narrator attempting to choke his Judas, but the invaders pry them apart and strip him of everything he owns, offering him the choice of death as a king or life as a peasant, and he chooses life and that's why he's sweeping streets he used to own. Or maybe it was just because of hubris, I love the idea of hubris coming back to bite you. Another potential plot is that he was a very imaginative and cruel child, and then the world showed its true nature to him, and he's a very jaded street-sweeper.
> 
> This is none of those things, really. It's a romance, and the song's narrator kind of switches back and forth. I'm not great at unhappy endings, I'm sorry, but I hope you find pleasure in this piece regardless.

**gold**

"A gaming hell really should emphasize the _hell_ part, don't you think?"

Jason turned away from the pit, where tables for faro, vingt et un, and roulette moved in constant motion, chips and cards and hands moving back and forth in practiced rhythms. "Sofia." 

"It's almost time," she said, the long column of her throat white even against the fabric that wound across her torso and over one shoulder. Her hair, arranged in curls, brushed the creamy skin of her shoulders. 

Jason ignored this and returned to surveying the pit. Gold flashed in his vision as a couple of aristocratic seal rings winked in the light of oil lamps. 

"Tsk," Sofia said, looking up. "We'll have to have the ceiling cleaned again. And the columns."

"And the curtains," Jason added, a wry tilt to his lips.

"Not if you keep dallying," she said, voice growing colder. 

Jason knew a command when he heard one, even if it wasn't fully voiced. 

He heard her turn and move to the stairs, ready as always to make her entrance. In that moment, Jason resented her more than he ever had before.

* * *

The green felt of the poker table caught on the small cuts on the tips of his fingers. Jason frowned.

"Do look cheerful, for my sake at least," Sofia murmured, before stepping forward, her chiton-inspired dress swishing about her feet. The other three men in the room watched her hungrily, their eyes tracing the line of her clothes, seeking to discern the shape of her body through her clothes. 

He took a breath and uncurled his fist slowly. 

She greeted their guests. Two men were prominent merchants, their trade textiles and factory goods. The last was a nobleman, their most regular player. He was an earl, but in this room, they called him Erebos. The merchants were Theseus and Perseus. Jason was dubbed Argo, a joke that left a sour taste in his mouth.

And Sofia, who could have chosen Athena, chose Eos instead. 

"What better a name," she said, laughing, the light from the lamps catching in her eyes, "than the goddess of the dawn? After all," and here her voice would deepen into huskier tones. "I'll be the last woman you see before the sun rises, will I not?" 

The guests always, always laughed at that, their greed and their desperation palpable. Only the earl, Erebos, played purely for the sport. Jason respected him for it, in some small way. 

They sat, drinks and chips were fetched and counted and sorted, and the game began. Sofia's pile was noticeably smaller than the others', and Jason tapped impatiently as the game ran. The factory merchant bowed out first, escorted out of the private room by two butlers and a heavy they kept just in case. The earl graciously cut out early, citing an early morning and a house party that demanded his attention. He rose, pressed a kiss to Sophia's hand, and left. 

Jason and the textiles merchant played with Sofia until Jason was short for the blind. He folded and stepped back, moving to the sideboard and pouring out three fingers of whiskey. This was his least favorite part. 

"We're down to the last hand," Sofia said at last. The dealer's face remained impassive. Jason grimaced into his glass. "And I'm sure you've noticed I do not have much coin left." 

"Indeed, milady."

Sofia smiled, almost a baring of teeth. "I'm all in, Perseus. To make up the difference, I offer my virtue." 

The other man's sharp inhale echoed in the quiet room. Jason downed the rest of his drink and took careful effort to set it back on the sideboard gently. 

"I call," said the merchant, the rattle of chips falling onto the green. 

The dealer revealed cards. The merchant blew out a long breath. "I lost," he said, bewildered. 

"Yes," Sofia said, and the warmth was gone from her voice, replaced with iron. "You can try again next week -- _if_ you make the quota." 

"You _bitch_ ," the other man muttered, and grabbed his jacket. "You'll pay."

"No," she said sharply, and drew herself to her full height, and inch taller than the merchant. "It is _you_ who shall pay. Your tab, your debt, all of it, or you shall be ruined." 

He turned purple before striding out of the room, clattering down the stairs in noisy thumps. 

Sofia clucked her tongue. "At least he didn't sputter." 

"Your brother would be so ashamed," Jason murmured, though whether he meant it at her or at himself even he wasn't sure.

Sofia assumed it was intended to cut her. "My brother made his choice," she said coldly. "His kingdom -- this _club_ \-- is mine now. I am queen of all I survey." 

"Your kingdom has walls," Jason retorted after a long moment, and bowed to exit before she could say more. "Long live the queen." 

**salt**

The fire was so large, it made the street look like daytime. It flared high into the night, sparks and embers cast onto the cobblestones at random. 

Sofia wept. Jason had never seen her break, and in the last week everything had come crashing down around them -- suppliers and creditors and bad press, and finally _this_. The crown jewel of a bad week.

"I'm ruined," she said between sobs, sniffling indelicately. Had it been a different situation, Jason would have smiled. "All of it is gone. All I had left of Christian is--is--"

"Ash," Jason finished, and though she had run roughshod over him for the last five years, though she had made him be the pit boss and the head of security, made him watch as she staked her virtue on the card table week after week, he felt that resentment, that anger, abate. Her brother had asked him to look after her, and so had, in the only way she would let him. 

He pulled her in for an embrace and felt her trembling beneath her dress and cloak, imperceptible until he touched her. 

"It was my home," she said, barely audible against his chest. The air smelled like destruction and ash, the smell of charred wood nearly a taste in his mouth. 

"Your home is with me," he said, a note of resignation in his voice. "The fire brigade will handle this. Come home, Sofia." 

She was still for a long moment, face pressed fully into his jacket. He held his breath in spite of himself, exhaling only when she nodded slowly. "All right," she said. "I'll come home with you."

* * *

He was startled awake in the middle of the night by the sound of his bedroom door unlatching. He sat up, reaching into the space between headboard and mattress for the pistol he kept there, when he saw it was Sofia, her hair unbound and clad in only her night rail.

"Sofia," he breathed, and felt his traitorous body flare to life. "You can't be in here. It's unseemly." 

A smirk spread across her features -- features cast into stark relief by the dying light of his unstoked fire. "Unseemly is an unmarried miss living in a gaming hell. Unseemly is me wagering my virtue in vingt et un." She was at the edge of his bed, knee on the counterpane, her nightrail rising to mid-thigh. Jason swallowed hard. "This? This is _scandalous_." 

"I won't ruin you," he said, hands fisting in his sheets. 

Sofia laughed humorlessly and climbed into the bed fully, straddling his legs. "Haven't you put it together, yet? I'm already ruined. What do I have left?" 

"Your maidenhead will fetch a fair price," Jason returned, voice caustic with venom. Sofia's expression fell away to shock. He pressed his advantage. "Didn't you know that already? You've been using it as your final bargaining chip for years now. You may be nearing spinster age, but your maidenhead is your failsafe." Jason rose to his knees, naked before her, erection near-flush against his abdomen. Sofia swallowed. He leaned in close to her, moving in as if to kiss her, before putting his mouth by her ear, lips just brushing the shell. "And I am not buying," Jason near-whispered.

She recoiled as if struck, studying his face. He held her gaze steadily, ignoring the way the dim fire at her back turned her nightrail near-transparent, ignoring the parted mouth and large eyes that she had tempted him with for years. She scrambled off the bed ungracefully and righted her clothes. "Jason, I--"

"Don't come into my room at night unless I explicitly invite you," he said, infusing as much coldness as he could in his voice. 

"I take it you won't be doing that anytime soon," she retorted sarcastically, lashing out. 

His cock remained stiff, and he clambered off the bed, no shyness in his nakedness. She took several steps back to maintain the distance between them. "I suggest you leave."

She did.

He returned to bed and dreamed of her lush mouth on his cock, his hands in her hair, her fingers scratching down his back, and woke to sticky, tangled sheets on which he had spent himself.

* * *

"Let us play faro," she said.

"No," Jason replied, continuing to pretend to read. 

She threw the porcelain cup she held in shaking hands into the fire. 

"You've just ruined the set," Jason commented mildly, turning a page, blind to the words. 

"I'm going mad," she declared.

He snapped the book shut. "You're being _hunted_ for running an illegal gambling club--"

"All of the papers were in order!"

"All of the paper burned in the fire!" They were standing inches apart from one another, shouting. 

"I want to leave. Living in fear like this, it's--it's not natural!" 

"And a woman running a gaming hell wasn't natural, but I didn't complain then, did I?"

"That's bloody rich. You complained every day. You hated me." 

"I never hated you."

"Bullshit!"

"I _resented_ you for making me into a pit boss, into a mere thug, yes. I wanted to shake you by your shoulders and talk sense into you. I hated the way those men would eye you, like meat at the market. I hated having your brother's role in your life and you not even allowing me that dignity. But I never hated you, Sofia." 

They were too close and breathing hard. 

"What do you want, Jason?"

Jason looked at her face, at the color high in her cheeks and her hair slowly slipping out of its pins, at the half-lidded way she looked at up at him, at the way her dress was cut just _so_ , the way her bosom rose and fell with each of her panting breaths. 

He wetted his lips. "I want you _alive_ , Sofia. And if locking you in the house -- chaining you in the cellar, even, by God, I'll do it." 

She took a step back, expression unreadable. "Perseus saved the princess Andromeda, Jason." She swallowed. "I will stay, but turn me into a prisoner and know that you become the Gorgon."

* * *

The letter was in no way innocuous.

"It's a summons," Sofia said flatly, her breakfast forgotten, noting the coat of arms on the seal even at her distance. 

Jason tore it open with no finesse, his haste and dread too great. "Worse." 

"You've been served?" 

He shook his head. "I've been conscripted." 

Her silverware clattered to the ground.

* * *

"We're playing vingt et un," she said decisively, pulling the book out of his hand.

"It was just getting good!" 

"You've been on the same page for an hour." 

Jason sighed. "Fine. Should we set up the table?" 

She shook her head. "The settee table is fine." She sat on the floor, tucking her feet underneath her, and Jason followed suit, eyeing her suspiciously. The firelight at this angle threw strange shadows across her face. 

"What are the stakes?" 

"Articles of clothing," she replied without looking at him, shuffling the deck. 

"Sofia--" 

She raised her eyes to meet his, then. "He is taking away everything, because I would not give him my virtue. You think once you leave that I will be safe in this house? In any house?" She dealt them both a pair of cards.

They held gazes for a long moment, until Jason shook his head slowly. "No, you will not be safe in England." He tapped the tabletop, signaling for her to give him another card.

She licked her dry lips and set down another card. "I want you, Jason. I want you more than I've wanted anyone." 

He felt his heart race. "You're upset, I'm the only person aside from Cook that you've interacted with in weeks--"

She shook her head and revealed her cards as the dealer. She had 18. He had 21. "I wanted you to be the last at the table. I would have made you my offer, and I would have lost the hand on purpose. Five years and you were always third." 

He pushed the cards to the floor, the deck scattering as he pulled her in for a kiss. She make a startled sound and he pulled back. "What? What is it? Am I hurting you?" 

She shook her head and practically leaped over the low table to straddle his lap. "You could never," she said, touching his face tenderly. 

"Funny," he retorted. "I was just thinking that you're the only one who could hurt me."

* * *

Her first time was by the fire in his drawing room, on the plush hearth rug there.

He stretched her, trying to prepare her for his girth, but she was squirming and impatient. When he breached her maidenhead, she threw her head back and he saw tears leak from her eyes. He stilled, kissed her neck, her breasts, ran his hands over her legs and buttocks. "Sofia," he breathed. "Sofia, darling." 

She shifted, growing accustomed to him, and he entered her fully in a stroke, her tight, hot wetness a blinding pleasure. "Ah! Argo, oh Argo," she moaned, and he felt the blood rush away from his head.

He worked her, bringing her legs up and open to drive into her, listening to her sounds and breathing to find the right angle, until her back arched off the rug and she moaned, hips stuttering against his own as he thrusted blindly into her. 

They embraced, catching their breath on the hearth rug, and he felt her take a long, shuddering breath before letting out a choked sob. She cried, great heaving sobs against his chest, and he held her and brushed her hair and murmured soothing things as she mourned for her brother, her lost life, and even for him. 

When her sobs abated, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and, last, her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears and the bitterness of her despair.

* * *

"They're sending me to France," Jason said, four days later, as they lay curled around one another in his bed.

She was silent for a long time.

"Sofia." He raised himself up onto an elbow. "I can bring you to France."

She shook her head. "No," she said quietly, looking at him. "I'll be in Greece."

"How will I find you?" 

"You'll find me, Argo. You will find me." 

**sand**

The beach was rough under his bare feet, the sand hot and dry. 

Jason was glad of it, even as it irritated his wounded knee. 

The ocean churned to his right, waves crashing and receding just irregularly enough to capture his attention. On a rocky rise to his left was a plain, white-washed church, its bells tolling loudly, the sound jubilant and then discordant as the wind changed. 

At the far end of the beach were the salt beds, the wide plots glittering in the sun, and a figure with a wide, straw hat sweeping the shallows methodically. He was told at the church that he would find her there. 

He made his way across the beach in measured steps, the sand between his toes making everything seem surreal somehow. He reached the edge of the beds and she was bent, stirring and sweeping the beds with a simple reed broom. 

"Hello, darling," he said, and the wind was in his favor, carrying his voice to her.

She looked up, startled, and Jason noted the changes in her face. She had grown freckled, and her hair was blonder than it was two years ago. Her arms were still slim, but the muscle was more pronounced than it was before, and her eyes and mouth had lines at the edges. 

She was still beautiful. 

"Jason," she breathed. She dropped the reed broom and made her way over to him, stepping carefully around the walls of the beds to get to him. He stood still, waiting for her, dropping his rucksack and rifle in the sand without a care. 

When she reached him, they embraced, his hands sliding around her waist like it had been two hours and not two years. She pressed her face into his shoulder and neck. "You're home," she said softly, voice half-lost in the wind. 

" _You_ are my home," he replied, and kissed her. 

When they broke apart, her brows knit together. "They released you?"

He shook his head. "I deserted. We can't go back to England ever again or I'll be hanged." 

She beamed. "Good thing Greece is made up of a thousand islands." She threaded her fingers in his hair. "I only stayed in Argos for you."

A wave, larger than most that had come before, crashed behind them, and Jason pulled her closer. "Sofia," he murmured, lips brushing her temple, her eyelids, the shell of her ear. 

"Jason," she sighed, and his name sounded like a benediction, a prayer, a siren's call.


End file.
